


Strip Chess

by obsessivelyintrigued



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce kind of likes it, Chess, Clark is a tease, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Shameless, Smut, no more like STRIP chess really, omg haha why did i write this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 20:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12690096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessivelyintrigued/pseuds/obsessivelyintrigued
Summary: Bruce and Clark play chess... with atwist.





	Strip Chess

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I am no chess expert but I know the basics and different opening strategies. I still used some reference for those though, that you can find [here](https://www.expert-chess-strategies.com/chess-openings.html%0A) and [here](https://www.dwheeler.com/chess-openings/). The end moves, however, I used some terms even if it’s kind of difficult to visualize it what’s with the game they are playing. Moreover, this would be extremely long (some of which I feel irrelevant in relation to the story) if I go into a deeper explanation of each move since that’s not exactly what I’m aiming for here. lol. 
> 
> I have this headcanon that Thomas used to play chess with a young Bruce and would often demonstrate [the bishop fork](http://www.chesstactics.org/the-double-attack/the-bishop-fork/introduction/2_3_1_1.html). After his parents died, Bruce didn’t stop playing chess but used it instead to distract and train himself at the same time, so he would play against Alfred who also used to play against his father. Alfred always favors [the English opening](https://www.expert-chess-strategies.com/english-opening.html) and [the queen fork](http://www.chesstactics.org/the-double-attack/the-queen-fork/introduction/2_2_1_1.html) and Alfred even said that it _might_ be because of his heritage; since then, Bruce often preferred [the knight fork](http://www.chesstactics.org/the-double-attack/the-knight-fork/introduction/2_1_1_1.html) and the first of the mating patterns with a [black rank mate](http://www.chesstactics.org/mating-patterns/the-back-rank-mate/introduction_simple-cases/6_1_1_1.html) when he’s playing against Alfred.
> 
> With the batkids though, they are all having a hard time winning against Bruce because he always goes off pattern. He would execute a familiar set and make a familiar setup then strays off to another one. However, like the batkids, Bruce never defeated his dad nor Alfred in a game.
> 
> :::
> 
> Unbeta'd.

Bruce is really, _really_ good at chess.

 

Not that Clark found that out the hard way, no. Sometimes he would drop by the cave and find Bruce playing chess with Dick in the living room instead. Jason would be lounging beside the eldest Robin and annoy him as Tim sits beside Bruce, analyzing the board with such focus that looks more intense than that on Bruce's face; most often than not, Damian can be found looming over the board, looking for all the world like the arbiter of the game.

 

And not once, did Dick ever won a game.

 

One time, Clark had stayed over for dinner as per Bruce's request despite Damian’s mumbled snide remarks. He even stayed longer to watch him play against Tim for the first time. At that time, Clark was fairly confident that the boy would win; after all, he had enough time studying Bruce's tactics on every game he had with Dick.

 

But Bruce still won.

 

Tim groaned as he flicks a finger at his King causing the piece to fall down in defeat. Bruce chuckles, ruffling the boy’s hair before rounding the pieces up.

 

“I was hoping I'd win my first game against you.” Tim said, putting his pieces back on the board, “I did study every game and got it all down.”

 

Dick barked a laugh at that and Clark had to stop himself from chuckling at the way it got “the look” from Damian. Really, Clark thinks, the boy doesn't even have to try harder to perfect “the look.”

 

“I thought that too and look where it landed me,” Dick sat beside Tim, resting his elbow on the younger boy’s shoulder, “I still haven't won a single game!”

 

“That's because you keep thinking you got it all down,” Bruce smirks at them, “When in reality, you don't.”

 

“And you got it all down?” Clark retorts a dry response that garnered a snicker from Jason.

 

“How else would I keep winning?”

 

Clark merely raised a not-so-impressed eyebrow at him, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in his seat. Noticing how Dick and Tim followed their banter with their heads, Clark replies, “How else, indeed?”

 

Suddenly, as if he’s had enough of their teasing, Damian stood up and declared: “I want to play against you, Father.”

 

“I think you're still a little short, _little D_.” Dick quipped.

 

“Shut up, Grayson.” Damian sharply replied, crossing his arms, “Clearly there is no height requirement in this game since Drake was able to play.”

 

“I think it's way past your bedtime, master Damian.” Alfred intervened, striding to the living room with his hands clasped on his back and effectively stopping Tim from voicing out his probably-witty-but-will-piss-Damian-off-reply. The English butler pointedly stares at the chess board in Bruce’s grasp then to the boys.

 

“Alfred's right, Damian.” Bruce said, standing up with the board in his arms, “You're all way past your bedtime.”

 

Clark grins at the boys’ reluctance, thinking of the irony of bedtime in this household. Dick hauled Damian into his shoulders, the latter’s protests turning into threats when Tim peeled a shoe off of his foot and ran to the opposite wing of the manor, Jason laughs as he strategically walks behind Dick should the demon brat chose to dive out of his grasp. The couple had watched them all drag their feet to their respective rooms as Alfred closely followed them for his nightly rounds of patrolling the manor, Bruce fondly shook his head at their more than usual shenanigan. Slow nights like this are good for them, Clark muses, lips quirking at the fond look on Bruce’s face. At least their family bonding isn’t just out there knocking criminals out and putting them in jail.

 

When they were gone and Alfred had also retired to his room, Bruce stood to follow their suit but Clark stopped him with a hand on his chest, smiling wickedly.

 

“Play with me.”

 

Bruce suggestively smirks at him, “I’m sure there are other ways I could play with you other than this.”

 

“My,” Clark feigned a gasp, “Are you actually afraid you’ll lose from me?”

 

“I don’t want to destroy your confidence, baby boy.” Bruce replied, chuckling softly as he attempts to step away from Clark.

 

And that — _that’s_ the one card Bruce shouldn’t have played.

 

Clark steps closer, effectively blocking the man’s way and runs the hand in Bruce’s chest up to his stubble, fingers splaying across his cheek until a thumb rests in his mouth.

 

He leans closer to Bruce, his lips ghosting against the other man's own lips. His other hand discreetly removes the chessboard under Bruce’s arm and drops them back to the table.

 

“I have a proposition to make.”

 

Bruce smirks at him, eyes glinting with delight, then closes the distance between their lips.

 

: : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : : :

 

Clark led them to the master bedroom Bruce occupies. He had slept there a handful of times before of course; including that [one night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12625266) after Halloween when he didn’t know that prank wars were all out in the manor and woke up to a bloody clown head beside him instead of the peaceful look on Bruce’s face while he sleeps.

 

Bruce was behind him, hands on his waist and lips pressing kisses on the back of his neck,“Tell me.” He murmured, urging Clark to say more than: _“Let’s play chess with a twist.”_

 

Slowly, he extracts himself from his lover’s grasp. Clark can’t help but snicker at the little frown it earned as he walks towards the bed; and if he swayed his hips a little, well, it’s not like it wasn’t _enticing_. Bruce sighs and Clark can feel his gaze following his every move before letting his hand fall to his side and strides to the walk-in wardrobe to change.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Clark teased, grinning at Bruce from the bed before he lies on his back and stretches; riling the man up by showing some skin where his shirt hikes up, “It would be more exciting for me to watch you strip when you’re wearing a shirt and waistcoat.”

 

Chuckling, Bruce walks closer to him instead, “Who would have thought Superman is kinky.”

 

“I _do_ have sex for exercise,” Clark raised an eyebrow at him, shifting on his elbows so he can stare at the other man over his shoulders. Bruce’s gaze followed the line of his body and lingers exactly where Clark wants his gaze to linger. He smiles to himself before edging to the other side of the king-sized bed and sits up to lay the chessboard between him and Bruce, “And your stamina is an excellent enabler.”

 

“Fine. What do you have in mind?”

 

“Strip chess.”

 

“Enlighten me.” Bruce said, completely unfazed.

 

“Gladly,” Clark opens the board and pours the pieces out unto the duvet; Bruce sits across him and collects the black pieces. _Of course_ , Clark thinks, _Of course, he’d choose black._

 

“It’s simple. The game is pretty much the same except whenever I capture your piece, you remove a piece of clothing and vice versa. Whoever loses all clothing first or successfully checks the other — wins, and also gets to top.” Clark places the king at its rightful place and stares at Bruce through his thick lashes, only to see the man’s intense stare already trained at him, “Game?”

 

Bruce grins, all teeth and mirthful eyes; causing a shiver to run down Clark’s spine. Maybe he didn’t think these things… more thorough.

 

_“Game.”_

 

Clark immediately moved a pawn to c4 and Bruce merely mirrored the move with a small chuckle, “The English opening, Clark, really? Alfred used to do the same all time.”

 

“Is it a sentimental move?”

 

“For him, it might be.”

 

In the little conversation they sparked up, Bruce has quickly moved the king’s and queen’s pawn; a knight already out to play. Clark recognized the setup and can’t help but smile, “The Colle Zukertort System, Bruce, really?” he mocks and the man merely smiles at him before capturing a pawn.

 

Clark removes his glasses before capturing that same pawn, then Bruce rids himself of the Rolex on his left wrist.

 

The next moves were a blur and Clark quickly lost a shoe, then the other shoe, followed by a sock, then the other — all haphazardly thrown somewhere on the floor behind him. All were closely followed by the same garment of Bruce’s as they take each other’s pieces out without remorse. Then he initiated a castling, only to belatedly realize that he was about to lose another piece of clothing. With a barely constrained sigh, Clark removes his belt and throws it behind him. It made a thudding sound that got a little laugh out from Bruce now that he is ‘one clothing’ up from Clark who is now sitting with his legs crossed under him; fingers steepled with his fingertips touching his lips. He noticed Bruce running his fingers over his stubble, contemplating. A few minutes passed between them, waiting for Clark to make a move.

 

In the next quick succession of moves, Bruce quickly lost his waistcoat, then his tie while Clark lost his plaid shirt and the handkerchief he keeps in the back pocket of his jeans.

 

“That’s not a piece of clothing.” Bruce scowls at him and Clark reaches out to playfully raise the corner of his lips.

 

“It’s a cloth, Bruce.”

 

The man glares at him and he swallows as the following couple of moves from Bruce cost him his shirt and jeans.

 

With a smug smile, Bruce leans back to admire the view of Clark removing his pants; his back facing him as the denim falls off of his hips. Quickly, the Kryptonian returns to his place, covering his lap with a pillow.

 

Silence enveloped them again as both men plan their next move. Clark hums to himself, tapping his chin; he is now down to his boxer shorts and really, he can’t help but snicker at the fact that he also decided to wear briefs so it would be a nice surprise to Bruce when he realized he hadn't won yet.

 

The next moves cost Bruce his belt. Then Clark places his knight on g4 and captures one of the dark bishops, reaching out to unbutton Bruce’s shirt for him, his hand was stopped short by a hand on his wrist. Smirking, Bruce pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his pants, waves it in front of Clark’s face and throws it behind him.

 

“It’s a cloth, Clark.” Bruce said, placing a kiss on his palm before letting his hand go.

 

Huffing a disbelieving breath, Clark returns his attention back to the board. There are only a handful of pieces left now; there were only eight left of his pieces, fortunately with a bishop and the queen. Bruce has nine, and Clark can see he is still wearing more clothes than him.

 

Maybe he _really_ didn’t think these things… more thorough.

 

His lips were set in a thin line, his brows furrowed in concentration when he executed his next moves; confident that he’s going to win this game despite the fact that he only has two pieces of clothing _and_ currently on the verge of losing. His moves are now critical considering he could lose any moment when he fails to read whatever Bruce may be planning.

 

Not that losing would be bad for him, no, considering the fact Bruce is only down to three pieces of clothing but also has a fairly decent board setup and even better set of moves possible than him.

 

In the next moves, Bruce gained access to the end of his board and promotes a pawn to a knight; completing the pieces Clark recognized that he used when playing with against Tim earlier that consists of the two rooks, two knights, the queen and the king.

 

Clark captures the last dark bishop and stares as Bruce strips his shirt off, shoulders rolling off of the material with his eyes still trained on the board. He holds onto his own bishop, aiming to create a-

 

“A bishop fork.” Bruce muttered, “Hm, interesting.” He leans forward, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

 

“Too classic?”

 

“No, it just reminds me of someone.”

 

“Who?”

 

Bruce dodged the attack he planned and starts setting a black rank mate, “My father. _Check_.”

 

Clark gave him a look that conveyed much more than what it should before he turns his gaze back to the board.

**Author's Note:**

> So... who would win?  
> I'd say #brucetopsclark2k17!  
> But we'll see :')
> 
> Also, also! That part with the clown head? You can find it [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12625266) It's a really cute fic so please give it some love when you read it! <3


End file.
